


Dear Neighbors

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Law School, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a law student, Jensen's used to long, sleepless nights. What he's not used to is all the headboard banging and cries for <i>Big Daddy</i> happening in the apartment next door that keep him up all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [zubeneschamali](http://zubeneschamali.livejournal.com) for the beta! 
> 
> And an even BIGGER thanks to [beelikej](http://beelikej.livejournal.com/) who volunteered to do art for this fic, which was originally intended for the latest round of [polybigbang](http://polybigbang.livejournal.com/). Long story on that one, but I'm glad it all happened to get such amazing pieces from [beelikej](http://beelikej.livejournal.com/). Thank you for stepping in and being such a delight to work with! 
> 
> [Art Post](http://beelikej.livejournal.com/470103.html)
> 
>   
> 

Law and Society in Early America starts at 9AM with a hard-as-nails professor. Her blazing red hair is as loud as her voice, but Jensen welcomes the volume to keep him awake today. His venti blonde roast usually does the trick by about 9:05, but it’d been a long night studying … then listening to his new neighbors go at it until the early morning.

The sun was just starting to turn the sky gold when the extra-loud fucking came to a crescendo. The bed had been knocking the wall at a steady pace until finally it bang-bang- _banged_ along with the shrill cry? of a woman screaming for the Lord Almighty and a guy releasing a long run of animalistic grunts until everything came to dead silence.

Jensen grimaces into the top of his coffee with the awkward memory when Professor Huffman’s commanding voice demands him to answer whatever question she’s just posed. All while he was putting the details together of the loud _National Geographic_ -themed sex that had happened on the other side of his bedroom wall.

He blushes, shifts, nearly tips his coffee over when he tries to set it back on long table of his row.

“Mr. Ackles?” she asks with a taunting little ring in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. There’s a small shake to his words that he wishes he could swallow back up, but her eyes narrow and her tongue comes out of her mouth to wrap around her teeth before she grins. He doesn’t shiver; it’s more of a full-body shudder at what could be coming from her. Some sort of seedy pass or downright sadistic delight at students nose-diving in her class?

He’s not sure which he wishes it really was.

“After class … _sir_.”

Other students around him chuckle behind their hands, while some outright smile at the moment. Jensen learned early on that law students are as heartless as the professors.

Once Professor Huffman releases the class, and many of his fellow students have filed out of the room, Jensen takes the daunting walk down the stairs and into the lecture pit. She’s gathering files from her desk and stuffing them into a leather portfolio case all while keeping her piercing green eyes on his, just about chilling him to the bone.

Neither says a word; Jensen clears his throat and licks his lips in anticipation of a real tongue-lashing.

Her dark red lips curl into a surprisingly soft smile. “Mr. Ackles, how long have you been attending this class?”

Jensen clears his throat and nods with his answer: “About six weeks, ma’am.”

“By now you know that to survive, you really need to grow a pair and speak up in class.”

He softly coughs and adjusts his stance, pointedly ignoring how he’s now subconsciously moved his carrier bag over his groin—and that Professor Huffman has noticed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She chuckles, pulls her portfolio bag over her shoulder, and steps up to him. “You’re one of the smartest students I’ve ever seen … your closing arguments on the Baker programmatic nearly had me in tears.”

Jensen swallows hard, surprise and satisfaction filling him quickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“But you fail to show your backbone when challenged. Stand up for yourself,” she insists with an astonishing amount of gusto. “Be a man. Use what the Good Lord gave you.”

Pride and excitement over her compliments makes him stand up straight. Then he tries to ignore how her eyesight drops down near his bag when she says the last part.

“Stop letting these students walk all over you and make yourself known. You just might surprise yourself with what you’re capable of.” She pauses long enough for Jensen to take a deep breath of inspiration, then adds, “You might surprise us all with what you can do,” then winks and leaves Jensen standing alone in the lecture room.

There’s a tiny tremor beneath his skin that makes him unsteady for a second or two. His father always told him that adversity is not what makes the man, but the direction he takes in the middle of the storm that does it. He can continue to cower beneath Professor Huffman’s critical (and aggressive) eye, or he can finally man up and take control.

The latter, of course. This is law school after all; University of Chicago is nothing to laugh at. He’s here for a reason, and he’s about to make that reason happen.

After he goes home to nap, that is.

Late into the next night, after a marathon study session for an upcoming base trial in his 1PM Political Nature of the American Judicial System, Jensen shuffles into the tiny foyer of his apartment building.

There’s a person-shaped giant blocking the mailboxes and Jensen sighs at the man’s back. He tugs his ear buds out, leans to the side, and lowers his head to stare at the guy’s back over the rim of his glasses.

Slowly, the guy turns his head to spot Jensen over his shoulder, and then jumps and bounces back against the mailboxes, finally laughing as he shoves a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “Jeez!”

Jensen offers a plain, bored maybe, “Hey.”

“Hey,” is the boisterous reply. “Man, you ever get that feeling that someone’s watching you, but you never really think they are, or that someone is even there, and yet this time there was!”

Jensen thinks about apologizing, but he’s tired and his voice is sore from arguing with Katie Cassidy over the imperative of stare decisis, and whether courts should have the opportunity to overturn past decisions.

Of course, it’s a class led by the acerbic Professor Richings who never credits black or white, so the argument lasted at least twice as long as Jensen had imagined it would. And now he has little to no patience for talking to anyone, let alone someone this gullible.

“It’s like in the movies or something,” the giant keeps going, completely unaware that Jensen is in no mood to hear more, “Or hell, the first two minutes of a Law and Order episode, right? That’d be a good story … new guy in the building and he’s taken out by a seemingly safe, trusting, attractive law student.”

Jensen narrows his eyes. “How’d you know that I was a law student?”

“Are you serious?” he asks with a laugh.

Secondary to how boisterous and warm the guy’s laugh is, Jensen realizes he was also just called attractive. By someone he is belatedly realizing is a cross between a wrestler and a model with perfectly shiny, slightly wavy brown hair and a wide, friendly, yet crooked, smile.

Jensen was never really straight, and nowhere near out, but he can appreciate the view for a moment. Peripherally that is, because he’s still bone-tired and ready to drop.

“You’re wearing the shirt.”

Jensen glances down and realizes he is, in fact, wearing his _The University of Chicago: The Law School_ maroon tee beneath what Mac calls his grandpa sweater. He’s left silent while looking back up to the guy, who’s now smirking at him, and stupidly runs his palm over the lettering. “Yeah, duh.”

When the guy chuckles, Jensen does a little as well. He’s spent the last two years focused on law and procedure and torts and professors who eat their student’s hearts out; far too focused to not enjoy regular human interaction like this. Especially when the guy’s eyes roam Jensen’s body from head to toe and sparkle a little when their gaze meets once again.

Biting his lower lip, Jensen waves a hand near his head and chuckles again. “Sorry, it’s just been a very long—”

“Long day? Totally get it. I’ve been up since like three. Couldn’t sleep for shit.”

Jensen smirks. “I was gonna say it’s been a long week … or even a month.” After a second, he switches topics as he remembers being woken up around 3:30AM to his noisy, fucking—literally—neighbor. “So, were you up at three with the loud bed banging in 205?”

The guy’s smile drops and his eyes turn down a bit, and Jensen huffs a laugh as he goes on.

“Man, I’ve been listening to them go at it for at least two months now. Morning, noon, night, it doesn’t seem to matter to them. Going at it like rabbits or some shit. I get it that you’ve got something good going on, but be a bit tasteful about it, you know?”

His eyes slowly lift to stare at Jensen. “I live in 205.”

Jensen takes a step back and feels his stomach turning in knots. He thinks _of course you do_ , as he considers the first real human interaction he’s had in ages, with a particularly hot guy who seemed to be checking him out … turns out to be the noisy neighbor he’s been cursing at since the beginning of the semester.

And is now obviously offended by Jensen’s mouthful of foot.

The guy’s eyebrows flit up in annoyance while Jensen continues to swallow his tongue, then he huffs and stomps up the stairs to the second floor.

“Nice to meet you,” Jensen offers, pathetic and guilty and more tired than he was just twenty minutes ago.

At 8AM, Jensen is wrapping up his study packet for Professor Huffman’s programmatic on jury nullification when his desk begins to rattle. It starts as a slight shake with the pens and pencils in his mug knocking together, but it grows into a regular wobble that disrupts his writing.

He closes his eyes as the bed on the other side of the wall pounds into plaster and cries of pleasure grow louder and louder.

_Fuck me, yes, yes, **yes** right there, harder, fuck me harder, yes, yes!_

Jensen sighs loudly, only to be answered with his desk stuttering away from the wall. He looks up to the creamy plaster and can actually see it quaking under the constant pounding.

_Ride that stallion, baby, ride it all night long._

His eyebrows rise high as he kind of laughs and frowns at the same time. That has got to be the guy he met last night at the mailboxes. And it also has got to be the worst sex talk Jensen’s heard in his life. And he spent most of puberty at the mercy of early internet porn while he debated guys or girls (and kind of settled somewhere between).

So, yeah. This is _terrible_.

_Yeah, I’m your cowgirl, gonna ride you all day and night, baby, such a big, big stallion you are, whoohoo!_

Jensen shakes his head, looks back at his study guide, and does his best to zone out the terrible lines seeping through the wall. Except then there is a loud smack, and another, and another. Probably the guy’s hands smacking her ass as she rides him … and now Jensen’s mind quickly goes to that visual of pert breasts jiggling on a thin body, her ass bouncing against the guy’s thighs all while she hops up and down on his dick.

_Squeeze my tits, baby, yeah, just like that, I know you like ‘em baby, you like my tits in your big hands?_

Leaning forward on the desk, Jensen covers his face and breathes as steadily as possible to shake the images that the woman’s orders are putting into his head.

_Turn over baby, I wanna see you up against the wall, taking it from me like a bad girl._

There’s a loud shuffle then a bang of what must be the bed hitting the wall as they reposition themselves. Then it just keeps striking the plaster as the woman shrieks in bliss and the guy encourages her to _take it like the bad girl you are._

_I’m such a bad girl, I need to be punished, is Daddy gonna punish me?_

_Your Big Daddy’s got you baby, not gonna hurt you, just gonna make you feel good, make you feel _reeeeeeal_ good._

“Are you kidding me?” Jensen groans aloud before holding his breath when it seems as if all movement in the next apartment has ceased.

Seconds pass by at a snail’s pace until there is a quick shout from the woman followed by a long, low moan. The word _yes_ is stretched out for longer than Jensen can hold his breath right now.

Once the man has audibly orgasmed, Jensen shuts his books and stacks them together so he can head off to class, only to realize his legs are tightly pressed together, thighs beginning to strain against the tension.

He looks down and finds the noticeable bulge of an erection that’s crept up on him. “Oh, c’mon,” he whines before looking at his watch to realize he has just twenty minutes to get everything together, walk to campus, and get into his seat before Huffman can call him out on the first programmatic. In reality, that leaves him a minute, if that, to get his ass moving and out the door.

“Okay, two minutes, that’s all you need,” he tells himself, “And then you’ll be all ready for Huffman to ride your ass …”

He makes a face, tossing the professor’s face out of his mind, and quickly undoes his jeans, pushes down his underwear, and starts fisting himself. He squeezes hard and goes fast to get the momentum running quickly, knocking his head back and sliding low in his desk chair to stretch out. He can hear light murmurs through the wall, probably post-sex cuddling or something, which seems ridiculous after Big Daddy gave his Little Girl such a hard time.

And now Jensen imagines Big Daddy’s Little Girl bent over on her hands and knees, breasts hanging and getting jostled every time that guy from the mailboxes lands a swift hit of his palm to her bare, tight ass. His brain perfectly constructs the lines of the guy’s body and the arch of his back every time he moves forward, burying his dick deep in her pussy.

As the movie playing in his head speeds up, hips smacking her ass, hands pulling her hair just enough to drag grunts from her mouth, Jensen’s hand moves faster and he breathes aloud with tiny noises punching out. Those sounds grow a bit louder, high-pitched hums coming out just as rapidly as his fist is moving as he can feel it coming, feel the tension in his skin, the quickness of his heart, and the final push far out over the edge when he shoots over his hand with a bitten-off shout.

Jensen struggles to catch his breath as his vision fades out with tiny bursts of light bouncing beneath his eyelids. Once he’s got his wits about him, he smiles to himself, and maybe a little to the neighbors who aborted his review session, but gave him something else to think about.

A light burst of laughter breaks out beyond the plaster and Jensen is torn from his thoughts. He has just fifteen minutes before class, and he curses at the wall, himself, his jeans that now have a noticeable white stain at the inseam, and his books for being uncooperative as he tries to jam them into his bag.

He hurries out of his apartment, struggling to get the key into the lock, and fumbles on his feet when he turns too quickly into the hallway. He nearly runs over a particularly gorgeous redhead in skinny jeans, tall boots, and a too-well-fitted tank showing off a great rack.

Her cheeks are lightly flushed and her lips bright and red, like she’s been biting at them all day. Which she does in this moment, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth as she eyes Jensen. She seems to push her chest out as she pulls a short leather jacket on and then licks her upper lip … very slowly.

“You must be the neighbor,” she says with a silky wave of heat in her voice.

He realizes she’s just left the apartment next to his, with the loud sex and Big Daddy’s Little Girl getting spanked ten minutes ago.

Oh God, he’s staring at Big Daddy’s Little Girl’s little girls and she catches him doing it. She tugs the edges of the jacket together, covering up her chest, and leans forward. “Jared said you were good looking, but I didn’t realize it was _this good_.”

Jensen gulps, probably audibly because now she smirks at him. A little dimple pops in her cheek and his knees nearly sink to the ground. She is absolutely nothing like what he was picturing when he was jacking off … some flimsy Barbie Doll, maybe, or even an over-the-top dominatrix-type, but this isn’t her. She’s warm, porcelain-doll face, and perfect with the thin lines of her body, except where’s soft and round in her tits and ass.

Now he’s certain his cheeks go crimson red with how embarrassed he is to be facing her just minutes after hearing her get off, then getting off himself to the thought of it, not to mention all the thoughts raging through his brain about how good she must look in those exact positions.

His phone beeps, a random alert from Facebook—probably some stupid quiz he’s been tagged in about when he’s going to die and how, and he kind of hopes that it’s right now with the floor opening up to swallow him whole. Then suddenly, he remembers he has a place to be that is not here in this horrific moment.

“I gotta, uh, get going now,” he stutters out he passes her on his way to the stairwell.

“I’m sure I’ll see ya later,” she sing-songs. Jensen looks over his shoulder. He stumbles down a few steps when she adds, “Or even hear you again,” and winks.

He can’t run to class fast enough.

In a swift move of injustice, Professor Huffman really does call Jensen first. He stands from his seat, moves to the aisle, and keeps his notebook clutched in his hands, fingers curling the edges back before he clears his throat to speak.

“Down here, Mr. Ackles,” she calls, the sharp demand echoing in the lecture hall.

Jensen looks up from his notebook to dozens of students staring at him, along with the professor who has her arm stretched to her side, one firm finger pointing towards a spot beside her. He carefully sighs, hoping it isn’t obvious how annoyed or even embarrassed he is right now. His gym shoes squeak on each step down, sounding sharp in the quiet of the room as the other law students all wait for him to crash and burn.

When Jensen makes it to the delegated spot, Huffman smoothly steps to the side, runs her hands down the sides of her suit jacket, and tucks her hands into the pockets of her perfectly tailored pinstriped pants. She’s watching him, and he looks back at her for the start, but all he gets is a pert red smile.

He clears his throat one last time and starts his argument: “No free man shall be captured, and or imprisoned, or disseized of his freehold, and or of his liberties, or of his free customs, or be outlawed—”

“Or exiled,” she bellows out to the room, “or in any way destroyed, nor will we proceed against him by force or proceed against him by arms,” voice growing louder and more derisive, “but by the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land.”

In a nervous fit, Jensen thumps his thumb over the scribble of words Professor Huffman stole right out of his mouth.

“Mr. Ackles, this is your argument for jury nullification? Reciting the Magna Carta?”

“Of course not, ma’am, and I—”

“But that is all that you’ve done thus far.” She laughs, shuffling towards the crowd of equally-amused students, as if she’s encouraging them to mock him.

“I have more.”

By now, she’s walked over to the lectern off on the side of the room, and leans against it. “I can’t wait to hear it,” she says dryly.

Here, finally, he drums up the confidence to let his voice call out in support of jury nullification as a process of checks and balances.

“The prime focus of the legal system appointing juries is to allow men and women to be tried by a cast of their peers. To truth-check society as it is ever changing in its mores and laws. As of the writing of the Magna Carta, no two men dared to disagree with the crown or the court justice … At this time, no resident was allowed to speak in dissent to the law, the crown, or the church, without expecting swift punishment.”

His voice builds stronger the longer he speaks, his right hand firmly holding his notes as his left moves through the air as he punctuates his argument, and his feet carry him around the short lecturing space, as if he’s taken over the entire class. The students are listening, Professor Huffman, too, and before he knows it, Jensen is wrapping up his speech by quoting yet another historic statement.

“The Judges were so astonished at the verdict of the jury that they had to repeat their question before they would believe their ears, but the public which crowded the judgment hall, on the announcement of the verdict, broke out into cheers so loud and long as, according to the unanimous testimony of contemporary reporters, had never before been heard in the Guildhall.

“The people need a voice!” He punctuates the points with long pauses, drawn-out looks among the crowd. “The law needs its appraiser. And the defendants need their critics. All come in the same form, and all require the space to speak and be heard. After all … free speech, it is our most precious birthright.”

Slowly, Professor Huffman begins to clap. It is so sluggish, in fact, that the first smack of her palms startles Jensen and he hurriedly turns to her with wide eyes and open hands, dropping his notebook.

“Mr. Ackles … that was quite a route of redirection, certainly one I had not considered before.” She looks among the crowd, chin rising and finger pointing at various people as she considers who to call on to challenge Jensen’s defense for jury nullification. Finally, she grins and calls on the teacher’s pet and one of Jensen’s biggest rivals in Richings’ class: one smug Katie Cassidy. “Ms. Cassidy, what say ye of Mr. Ackles’ argument here?”

Katie quickly rises, straightens out her pencil skirt, and flicks her head as if her tightly rolled bun was free hair to whip over her shoulder. “I do say that there are more expectations for jury nullification than free speech. Are we not,” she asks, glancing around, “as American-born citizens, granted the right to speak at will?”

Huffman spins back to Jensen for his response.

In lieu of rolling his eyes at Katie, he lifts his shoulders and chin with conviction as he stares back at her. “The Founding Fathers established our right for free speech, but they also requested that accountability be expected as well. And I quote, ‘Every citizen may, accordingly, speak, write, and print with freedom, but shall be responsible for such abuses of this freedom.’ Jury nullification goes hand in hand with the expectation for the twelve selected to respect their duty for a true and honorable decision, while also enacting their right to discern the law by their own means, as necessary.”

Katie seems startled, Huffman as well, and Jensen sucks in a quick breath. He’s certain he quoted accurately and had rattled off the right amount of passion for an actionable argument, but he has to wait.

Not for long, thankfully, for the professor’s lips spread wide for a brilliantly white smile that could sustain Colgate for years to come. “Mr. Ackles, I _do_ believe you have a point. Step to the right side of the class.”

He does, and she goes to the center to call upon the next speaker who will attempt to join Jensen in this trial-and-fire procession. She even invites the next victim to do their best to top Jensen, but the jab is lessened when she looks to Jensen and winks with a proud smile.

Buoyed by the first win he has ever obtained in Huffman’s class, and for outlasting much of his scholarly competition, Jensen nearly runs back to his apartment. It’s not a run, nor a jog, so much as some kind of constantly-interrupted skip when he has to shuffle around students slowly strolling across campus.

He remembers back when he didn’t have to rush everywhere—especially back when he didn’t want to—but he’s waiting to return home before he erupts with a commotion of fist pumps and foot stomps and cries of elation.

He trudges up the stairwell, ignores the tiny impulse making him want to look at the neighbor’s door, and finally gets his door open. He shuffles around in the entryway, slams the door shut, and finally gets a quick dance going. He’s up on his toes, waddling to and fro with his hands moving high above his head. His mouth opens with a broad smile and then mimics the quiet cheers of a crowd that couldn’t be prouder of his success in class this morning.

Then his legs lag and his arms slowly drop. His mouth remains open, though it droops a bit, and his head cocks to the side at the slowly building, yet entirely too loud _thump, thump thump_ through the wall he shares with the guy who can’t stop fucking that hot girl he ran into just before class.

He stares at the wall and images of sex fill his head before he can help it. With a quick shake of his head, he loses the steamy daydreams and marches to his desk. He tears a piece of paper out of a notebook and grabs a pen … no, he tosses that aside and goes for a wide-tip Sharpie … and scribbles out a message he’s sure will get them to stop in their tracks the next time they come and go from the apartment.

He marches to the door, his hand slapping the paper and tape up to the door, his eyes comb over his scrappy writing, and his lips tip up in a satisfied smirk.

Jensen would happily describe this day as the one in which he finally listened to Professor Huffman and grew a pair. Then used them to antagonize his neighbors, and make himself laugh.

In bold, blacker than black scribbles, his message screams passive aggression and he can’t give two shits to their affect.

He proudly strides back to his apartment and slams the door shut with a smug smile.

Nothing happens.

Jensen is actually a bit disappointed.

He expected an apology – in writing or in person. Maybe even a plate of brownies at his door. Or a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Something.

But there is no change. The sex happens at all sorts of hours. A few bouts strangely more daytime-oriented than late at night, super early in the morning, or even a constant run of what once seemed like lunch into dinner.

He’s not sure why he’s surprised … as if a bunch of college kids would suddenly find responsibility and listen to something he would have to say. As a law student, Jensen may think he carries more value on campus, but this is a private apartment building off campus. There is no order of rank here, and Jensen is pathetically frowning when he has to jog down to the front lobby to accept a package and finally runs into his neighbor. The big, tall, muscular guy, who is currently sweating all over the floor from some kind of insane run in the heat that continues to overrule the AC unit in Jensen’s window.

The foyer is small, much too tight to fit Jensen, the neighbor, and the delivery man. Unfortunately the neighbor was the last one to attempt the space, so he stands awkwardly just over the delivery man’s shoulder as Jensen frowns, signs and handwrites his name, and mumbles an apology. Once Jensen has the package tucked under his arm, and the delivery guy is back outside, a staring contest brews out of what seems to be awkward curiosity on the neighbor’s part and graceless confusion on Jensen’s.

It’s a strange transition to go from hating the exceptionally loud sexual proclivities of his neighbor to suddenly finding the man extraordinarily attractive, but here Jensen stands battling this very issue. Later he’ll blame it on the guy’s tight tank, soaked through to the bone and outlining every ripple of his chest and abdomen

Jensen blinks and clears his throat, and even thinks about moving, yet he’s under the influence of something more akin to lust. Especially when a few drops of sweat wind their way down the guy’s cheek, dropping beneath the striking jaw, and dribbling down the long expanse of his neck.

His mind supplies an odd juxtaposition of the neighbor nailing the hot girl from this morning, making her his little girl, slapping her firm ass bright pink, against the opportunity for Jensen to lick the salt right from that incredibly taut and especially tan throat. Jensen’s note, his haphazard scribbling, comes into view atop both images, and he is far too embarrassed at the impossible possibility that this guy knows exactly what is happening inside Jensen’s skull.

Add to that, they’ve been staring for far too long now and Jensen does his best to break the bizarre moment.

“I’m sorry about that … you can come in now,” Jensen offers, stepping aside to make more room. Then he uncomfortably chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “Not like I have to give you permission to enter. You live in this building, too.”

“Yeah,” the guy says plainly with a long look. After another few seconds, his eyes combing over Jensen’s face and dipping down to his shoulders for brief seconds, he clears his throat as he moves around Jensen and further into the foyer.

They both head up the stairs with Jensen keeping space behind, and yet the guy glances over his shoulder often enough to make Jensen think there is more to be said than his stupidity at the front door.

Shame fills every crevice of Jensen’s body. He wishes he had never written that note, wishes he never had to face his neighbor, wishes he never opened his stupid mouth when they first ran into each other at the mailboxes so many days ago. There could have been something more than tension and dark silence between them, because when Jensen offers, “Have a good day,” as he walks past the partly-open door of the guy’s apartment, there is nothing said in return.

In fact, when Jensen gets to his door, the guy is staring at him while standing half inside his own apartment. Jensen tries to smile, but knows it’s tight and off-putting in this strange moment, and heads inside.

Faintly, words are heard from the other apartment. Jensen goes against his immediate instincts and moves to the wall, presses his ear against it, and tries his best to make sense of what’s being said.

All he can make out are garbled ‘babe’ and ‘next door’ and’ handwriting’ and ‘letter.’

That last word sits heavily in his belly and he pushes away from the wall. His mind quickly supplies the vision of signing the mail slip, writing his own name in blocky capitals like he often does, like he did on his nasty note, and the neighbor watching every letter take shape on the form.

Jensen spins around and stares at his door. His heart thumps impossibly fast at the sound of a door opening on the other side of the wall, to footsteps in the hallway, and the quick rap of knuckles at his door.

He doesn’t need to answer it, doesn’t have to face this situation, he tells himself. He’s an adult; he doesn’t have to deal with angry neighbors who don’t like the fact that he’s called them out for being obnoxiously loud in bed.

Another pattern of knocks and the high, amused tone of the girl make him cringe. “Jensen, you home?”

“No,” he whispers to himself, wishing the word alone would end this absurd situation.

“You _are_ home. I’m pretty sure you are. Jared said he saw you downstairs signing for a package.”

He swears she giggles at the tail of the last word.

“I know we haven’t met yet … I’m Danneel. Jared’s girlfriend … Jared is your neighbor, in case you haven’t formally met yet.”

Is it possible that Danneel would carry the entire conversation by herself, through the door? Jensen finds it possible when she goes on to remind him that they ran into one another just a few days ago when she was leaving Jared’s apartment.

She nearly tumbles into Jensen’s arms when he yanks the door open. At least she’s done talking. Except, now her chest is pressed right up against his, and her bright, wide doe eyes are staring up into his. Her fingers curls around his biceps as she slowly rights herself before her perfectly red lips slowly curl a pleased smile.

“Hi,” she says in what should be very plain, but Jensen reads far into those two letters and senses something dangerous, worrying, lethal maybe.

Jensen shakes off that notion and all but pushes her up to her own feet on the other side of the threshold. “What do you want?”

Her frown is surprising, as is the quick turn of her lips to form a devilish smile. “I’m just here to introduce myself, maybe invite you over to meet Jared, too. Officially and all that.”

He focuses on keeping his eyes perfectly still, to not widen them like a deer in headlights – even if he feels like it at this very moment. “I met Jared already.”

Danneel tips her head with a sly smile. “Oh, come on now.”

Before he can put his foot down, literally, she’s got her arms wrapped around one of his and is tugging him into the hallway and right into Jared’s apartment. He takes a few steps to get back into the hallway, but Danneel pulls him forward again and he’s face-to-face with Jared, who appears just as impressed with the situation as he is.

Danneel, on the other hand, looks delightfully pleased with herself. “Jared, this is Jensen. Jensen, Jared.”

Together, they mumble, “Hi,” and quickly glance away.

“Now that we’re all introduced …”

It’s a lead on, or lead _in_ , maybe, with how she steps closer at their sides and lets the silence hang heavy in the room.

“… let’s talk about the note you left us.”

Jensen winces, turns away, only to be pushed back into place by a surprisingly strong Danneel.

“Nope, no escaping this now that you’ve put it into writing. You can’t leave an invitation like that out to dry.”

His stomach drops. “Wait, what?” Jensen asks quickly, looking at each of them over and over.

“Your invitation,” she grins.

“What invitation?”

She narrows her eyes then purrs, “Don’t be coy now, big boy.”

“Big boy,” he stutters then cringes when he sees Jared is now smirking along with Danneel.

Entering the conversation, Jared brings his hand up, showing Jensen’s previously anonymous note. “Yeah, I mean, you were pretty forward.”

Jensen sputters a laugh, curls his shoulders inward, and lifts his face towards the ceiling in hopes of an escape. Maybe the whole roof will be torn off the building and a tornado can whisk him away.

“You thirsty?” Danneel asks. “Need a drink?”

“God, yes,” he sighs and realizes she was already prepared for this with juice glasses half-full of something clear and very, very strong. He’s hesitant to drink—too many episodes of Friday nights in with Dateline on in the background—and waits for Jared and Danneel to each take a sip before he does. The liquor burns down his throat and he clenches his jaw while shifting away to hide his bitter cringe. It’s then that he recognizes just how different Jared’s studio apartment is from his own. It’s all the same layout, with a small living area, kitchenette, and the bed against the wall Jensen always hears their sex through.

This room, however, feels warmer yet claustrophobic, especially when he sees that Danneel and Jared are now sitting at the edge of the queen bed. There is barely a foot or two between them with her hand set on the comforter.

Jensen gulps down a healthy sip and clears his throat so as to not whimper at the strength of the drink. “So?” he offers by his own pathetic way to conversation.

Jared bites his lower lip and Danneel proudly smiles while rubbing her palm over the pointedly empty space on the bed. “So,” she repeats.

They must be insane. Bat-shit crazy. Incurably ill and ready to be committed to a faraway island where they will never interact with another soul again.

Crinkling paper takes over any thought in Jensen’s mind and he watches Jared’s large— _very_ large—hand tucking tighter around Jensen’s note.

Jensen is the one who is fucking mad for having written that note. In some odd twist, he silently curses out Professor Huffman all while staring at Jared and Danneel, quite possibly the most attractive people he’s seen in person.

Together, and individually …

Maybe that deserted island has room for a third …

“So … that note was a joke,” Jensen tries to explain, even when he hardly means it.

Jared plays with the crumbled paper, looking between it and Jensen. “Was it?”

“No,” trips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“You told me yourself that you could always hear us.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And no one else has ever complained,” Jared says with fake doubt.

“I find that hard to believe,” Jensen mumbles before shutting his mouth.

“Jared says you’re a law student,” Danneel says quickly, covering up the uncomfortable staring contest Jared and Jensen were about to take part in.

Jensen looks at Danneel, which is just as awkward because of how interested she seems to keep talking, even when he’s already embarrassed himself with how they’ve run into one another and now his letter that’s brought this situation to be. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s really interesting.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Very.” She smiles and leans towards Jared. “We’re both pre-med. Jared’s into pediatrics and I’m all about the heart.”

“Oh, wow, cool,” he mumbles, because he _is_ impressed but wholly unsure what to really say about her suddenly sharing this.

“I like kids,” Jared explains with a dopey smile.

“And I like getting my hands wrapped around men’s hearts,” she jokes, even elbowing Jared in the side. “Kidding.”

“That’s … cool.” Jensen clears his throat. “Really noble, and all that. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, so, you see …” Danneel crosses her legs and sets her elbows on her knees as she leans forward. “We’re all a bunch of smart folks here who can have this conversation like mature adults.”

“What conversation?” He’s diverting attention, he knows. He just can’t wrap his brain around all of this.

“About your note … the proposition.”

“No, really,” he insists. “It was a joke.”

Jared stands and unfolds the crumpled paper. “Well, the sad thing is, I kind of lack a sense of humor.” His eyes scroll over the words before he flashes the note at Jensen. “So when you say ‘ask me to join’, we’re going to seriously consider it.”

He can’t answer; his throat closes and it’s so dry he can’t bother to cough. He downs the rest of his drank and slams the glass down on the nearby dinette table.

“That’s really unfortunate,” Jensen says through clenched teeth.

Danneel drops back to the bed, holding herself up on her elbows. She’s smirking again and Jensen can’t not watch how she uncrosses and recrosses her legs. She has on impossibly tight jeans, but the point is there all the same. “That we’re seriously considering it?”

“That you don’t have a sense of humor.” He backs up a few steps towards the door. “Because like I said, it was just a joke. I mean, this is ridiculous, it’s not going to happen.”

Just moments from Jensen grabbing for the doorknob, he realizes Jared is hovering nearby, blocking the path for escape.

“You’re a law student, Jensen. How about you give us your best argument for why not?”

He blurts the first—and only—thing to cross his mind. “Because you two are already together.”

Danneel makes a loud buzzer noise.

“Not really,” Jared says with an easy smile. “We’re just really convenient and enjoy one another’s company.”

“How do you have sex all the time?” Jensen nearly shouts as his brain runs off on a hazy alcohol trip. “If you’re both in med school … how in the hell do you have the time?”

“There’s always time for sex,” she replies as Jared goes on, “Yeah, I mean, you gotta find time in between law school.”

“No, not really,” he admits. When Jared hovers a bit too closely, making Jensen’s nerves heat up with sweat breaking out on Jensen’s forehead, he tries to cover up his admission.

“Didn’t we hear you the other day?” Jared asks, eyes narrowing yet sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, I know I heard you doing something,” Danneel adds. “Right after we were … well, you know.”

Jensen instantly flushes, red, pink, hell probably _fuschia_. He had gotten off that day, right after Danneel called Jared Big Daddy and got spanked up against the wall. His whole body burns up like it’s on fire—arms, hands, neck, shoulders, even his legs and knees heat up so fast that he has to shift in place and cross his arms across his chest. “No-oh-ohhhh,” comes shuddering out of his mouth, sounding more like a shaky sigh than insistence that it never happened.

Danneel and Jared share bright smiles and she sing-songs, “I think that’s a yesssss.”

“It’s not a big deal, so I jack off a lot,” Jensen exclaims before he can stop himself. His stomach drops at the humiliation, but something else soars when he sees the way Jared looks at him—something amused yet endearing and _interested_.

“So you were jacking off to us? To what you heard through the walls?”

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he shrugs off. “There’ll be plenty of time to fuck around when I pass the bar.”

“Why not fuck around right now?”

Jensen opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his tongue, and on Jared’s, too, because they’re kissing with Jared pressing Jensen against the door. Jared’s large hands comb up the sides of Jensen’s body and hold Jensen’s face to the perfect angle so he reach far into the corners of Jensen’s mouth with the pointy tip of his tongue. Jensen melts into the kiss (won’t ever admit to that, really), and twists his fingers into the front of Jared’s tank top, stretching ribbed cotton at terrible angles.

Once Danneel audibly hums, Jared pulls back with a smirk and a wink making Jensen’s knees go weak (not admitting to that _either_ ).

“You want another drink?” Jared asks. His voice is deep, deeper than before, gravelly and heated. Just like his pupil-blown eyes are as they watch Jensen for his answer.

“No … I … uh …”

“Should come over here,” Danneel murmurs.

Jensen wipes his mouth, tucks his thumb at his lower lip, and relives Jared’s kiss, suddenly wondering how Jared kisses Danneel. And how she kisses in return.

That thought carries him to the bed, where Danneel sits at the edge of the mattress and moves her cheek into Jensen’s palm as he threads his fingers through her hair. The strands are soft, silky, and slip right between his knuckles.

He dips down to take over her mouth, so soft and delicate, almost tentative against Jensen’s growing confidence, the need that’s overcoming rational thought. When she stops the kiss, leans back with sparkling eyes keen on him, he whines then frowns at the silliness of doing such a thing. Danneel just smiles and shifts downward. Her hair slips further through his hand and he closes his fingers around the ends, tugs a little to make sure she’s not going far.

And she’s definitely not; her nimble fingers undo the button and fly of his jeans in moments and she kisses his cock through the cotton of his underwear. He whines again, then shuts his mouth and tells himself to never make another sound if he doesn’t want to totally ruin this moment. Because Jared has stepped up behind him, broad, now-bare chest pressed up against Jensen’s back while his hands slip beneath the front of Jensen’s shirt to inadvertently tease and tickle every square inch of his belly.

“She’s great at this,” Jared murmurs in Jensen’s ear. “So good, you’ll lose any use for your brain-to-mouth filter.”

“So I’ve heard,” he replies, proving Jared right on that filter thing.

Jared’s fingers reach Jensen’s nipples, circling the sensitive skin and lightly pinching. Jensen knocks his head back to Jared’s shoulder and gives up on trying to stop the onslaught of overloaded nerves screaming for relief. At that moment, Danneel pulls Jensen’s jeans and underwear down to his knees, and closes her mouth around his cock. She laps all over the head, leaving messy streaks of saliva that slide down his dick and to his balls, which she then grants attention to by fondling them with one hand. Her other hand slides beneath Jensen’s legs and he can feel her fingers moving against his ass until she can reach far enough to rub Jared’s dick through his running shorts.

Danneel continues on with her mouth running up and down, around the sides, and over the top of Jensen’s cock. He shivers at the tight suction she alternates with wet, sloppy licks.

Embarrassment finally drifts away when Jared whimpers into the side of Jensen’s neck. His fingers close tighter around Jensen’s nipples, and he rocks against Danneel’s hand until she’s got them both fully hard. Jared’s dick feels long and wide against Jensen’s ass, and Jensen can only imagine which one of them will be the lucky recipient.

Danneel pulls off with a loud, wet pop, and Jensen’s brain just might short circuit, especially when he looks down to her dark red, worn-out lips spread in a wide smile with perfectly pert dimples distracting him from any words.

“Having second thoughts?” she asks, strangely sweet after how she’d just sucked his cock. Or for how she’s just casually stroking his dick, keeping it close to her face as if she’s debating whether to take him down again.

A string of fear tightens his spine and he stands up straighter than a man should when someone like Jared is draped across his back. “Should I be?”

“No, not really,” she says easily, still fisting him. Her grip tightens enough that his body rocks back and forth with her rhythm. “Just checking.”

She keeps stroking his dick, and he keeps rocking into her fist while staring at her mouth, growing wet with every lascivious run of her tongue over her lips. Jensen finally finds some nerve and brings his hand up to rub her shoulder then drag his fingers down over her breast. She doesn’t shy away from it, moves into his hand, in fact, and then Jared is reaching around Jensen to cup her other breast. Danneel closes her eyes and hums, shifts her hips so she’s pressing down into the mattress, and Jensen feels his own muscles tighten as his dick is now hard as rock.

He doubts he’ll last much longer, finally putting visuals to the sounds he’s heard through the walls. And apparently Danneel won’t either because she whines, pulls back to just lay down on the bed, and spreads her legs in invitation.

And then says, as if she really had to, “Let’s get the show on the road.”

Jensen watches as Jared immediately goes to her, settling between her legs and grinding into her, even as clothes still separate them. Danneel looks over Jared’s shoulder and sweetly smiles at Jensen. “You good, darlin’?”

He huffs a laugh as he realizes he’s now fisting his own dick while enjoying the moment. “I can watch from here.”

“No, you can’t,” she says with a smirk. “That’s not what you asked for. You asked to join us.”

He attempts to move forward, but is restricted by the jeans and underwear still around his shins, so he shucks those off, along with his shirt, and moves closer to the bed. Danneel immediately reaches out to run her fingers along his dick, move lower down to tug at his balls, which are heavy and full already. Jensen watches as Danneel and Jared rock together on the bed, as if starting up the first round of sex, even while still fully clothed. Jared’s head is buried in her neck with fiery red hair flipped across the comforter, and she continues to watch Jensen. “So, how do you want to contribute?”

He thinks about group projects in Richings’ class, and immediately knows he’s not in the right mindset to take this moment— _opportunity_ —seriously. So finally, Jensen smiles and takes a calming breath. “I can contribute wherever you can best use me.”

Danneel grins back then tugs Jared’s head away from her chest to look him in the eye. “And what do you think, Dr. Padalecki?”

“I think you should blow me,” Jared says darkly, “And he can take you while you’re at it.”

As if this is the usual, and they’re all on the same page, bodies move this way and that, limbs getting into place until Jensen is kneeling on the bed behind Danneel and putting on a condom. His fingers shake and his heart beats unbelievably fast—he thinks he might have a heart attack—as he watches a now fully-undressed Danneel on her hands and knees while slightly shifting forward and back to suck Jared’s rather thick and rather long dick. Jared stands tall at the edge of the bed and sinks his fingers into Danneel’s hair, biting his lower lips, groaning like a man coming undone, string by string.

Jensen decides to enjoy the moment, be a part of the group, and rubs his dick along the seam of Danneel’s pussy. She instantly ruts back and moans, so he shifts forward again and slowly, bit by bit, pushes into her delicious warmth. From there it’s autopilot for him to fuck Danneel, to slide in and out of her wetness, and pump out a filthy run of moans and expletives. Jensen’s happy to hear that her exceptionally dirty and loud mouth isn’t only for Jared, that she’s enjoying herself with Jensen, too, releasing these high-pitched screeches every time he pushes in. 

Jared is losing it, as well, getting absurd with how many times he’s begging “Baby, suck it good, suck it all,” over and over, and somehow it is better on this side of the wall because Jensen can tell it’s amping up all the good feelings coursing his veins. 

Danneel moves back from Jared’s dick and fists him quickly as he’s warning her that’s gonna come, and within seconds, he’s shooting over her face and breasts. 

“Oh, yeah, Big Daddy,” she coos. “I love it when you come for me.” 

Once she’s sitting up on her knees, she wipes at the come with slow strokes of her finger tips, then licks each one dry while Jared watches. Jensen rests back on his haunches, pulling her with him, and Jared follows as well to kiss her fast and wet. Then Danneel starts howling because Jared slides his fingers over her pussy, slides them around where Jensen’s dick is going inside. Then Jared goes for her clit and she’s more than happy with it, screaming and fucking back onto Jensen’s dick quicker and harder than before. 

Jensen knows he’s getting close, now, too, especially with Danneel practically vibrating in his lap. He wraps his arms around her then grabs onto her breasts, pulling her back onto him as he fucks her and gets them to come together, sighing and whining and huffing and puffing through it. 

He falls back against the mattress and she comes with, panting until she can finally find her voice. “Well, sugar, I think you’ve just made us a trio.”

Failing to come up with a witty remark, Jensen just chuckles and settles alongside her as Jared does the same.

Jensen strolls into the lecture hall, his Law and Society in Early America final tucked neatly inside a pale grey filing guide, the heavyweight kind with a dozen or so tabs that he’d methodically labeled at his desk. It took nearly forty-five minutes to pick out the right file organizer, not to mention the perfect heft of paper that would fill it and the reliable labels to title the front of it.

He’d been nearly naked, only covered by a towel after a three-way shower that had taken far too long that morning when Jared and Danneel insisted he needed a bit of stress relief after a long week compiling his casework for Huffman’s final critique.

They weren’t wrong. 

Jensen finds they never really are, especially when they get going on Jared’s side of the wall then knock at the plaster to summon Jensen. Not too bad an arrangement, though Jensen will never admit how quickly he gets up from whatever he’s doing to join them.

For all that he’s overly anxious and quick to respond to Jared and Danneel these days, he’s found a bit of confidence and relaxation for other areas of his life. Like when dealing with Huffman. 

He coolly goes to the table in the pit of the lecture hall and waits in line to present his paperwork. Katie is just in front of him, fluffing her hair and fixing a wayward blotch of lipstick in the corner of her mouth. Then she turns to Jensen just as she’s about to step up to Huffman.

“Oh, Ackles, you’re actually here. Was worried when you didn’t show up to the review session.”

“No worries here,” he responds calmly, flashing both Katie and Huffman a lazy smile. 

“Thought maybe it all got to be too much for you. I know how hard it is for you to respond to authority.” Katie hands over her file folder, nearly twice as large as Jensen’s. “But good luck anyway.”

It’s all fake and wasting time, so he just slaps his folder on top of Katie’s and shrugs. “Hey, the best thing I’ve learned here is that if you’ve got a set of balls, you gotta use ‘em.”

Katie huffs while a few classmates behind Jensen gasp or chuckle, depending on their senses of humor. 

Jensen smirks with the noises then glances at Huffman. “Right, Professor?” 

Then he winks at the strangely-silent Huffman and strides right back up the stairs, never turning back. No matter what anyone says or laughs about, he’s got other duties on today’s agenda. And a variety of other briefs to inspect.


End file.
